Shit day – NaPoWriMo Day 25

Shit day               

When my sister asks if I’m ok,
I reach into my bowels
unfurl a banner
that reads…

I read all the books to convince you.

I turn, face the sun
let my innards
(and the banner)
dry.

I fold the banner
fifteen times
place it on the tip
of my tongue

swallow.

I taste the dry bowel blood
continue to swallow
convulsing each letter
feeling the folds
scrape along the inside of my throat.

I fill a glass with my piss
hold it close to my chin.

I take a jerk backwards
help the banner down.

I look at her face.
Reveal

I’m fine.

Seeing – NaPoWriMo Day 21

Seeing

Air hostesses kidnap aliens
they stowaway their eyes,
the lids are removed.

They slice the tops off,
convert them into shot glasses
in which they serve
the most ginnest of tonics.

I watch their directions,
keep a steady stare
at their luggage sorting antics.

My observations keep me calm
while the plane banks left,
and the world starts spinning.

A poem from last year – ‘Bereft’

With NaPoWriMo in full flow, my days are filled with trying to write one poem that I am happy to share on my blog! As a result my output is pretty variable. So I thought I’d share a poem that I am pleased with, but it was written a while ago (last year, the day after the UK election results – to be precise!). I hope you like it!

Bereft
 “In our age there is no such thing as ‘keeping out of politics.’ All issues are political issues, and politics itself is a mass of lies, evasions, folly, hatred and schizophrenia.” – George Orwell

I hold a loss in both hands
Shuffle thoughts and search for colour
Cling to values
And skin clawing expressions

Cold, blue bodies fill the room
Processions prepare
To share in hope
At the failing house

Hollow opinions swell
Footsteps hit moving caskets
Tripping on crossed cracks
Doorsteps break hearts

Apathy swings opinion
Away from red shame-vaults
Intentional power takes action
To deliver mournful results

Imprint – NaPoWriMo Day 19

Imprint

Black smear of light bulb envy
the scar on my finger forces a mark
a blade of glass
and the shallow bleed
makes my pulse race
with fingered excitement.

Place a hand palm down
on the unforgiving surface
run until blood becomes water
keep running until numb becomes blinking pain
grab the bulb and squeeze
until lacerations become retribution.

Flash a jolt with searing slicing
and resort to being 16 again.


Hourglass – NaPoWriMo Day 17

Hourglass

from a child’s hand
lifted by cranes
left bagged
in crystalline moulds
blown along footprints
sunken wet traps
in socks of families
and between thighs
shaken onto bed
clothes and carpets
sitting in a hoover
to settle fragments
of cliff
waste

crush
mingle
mash
broken fragments
of what we did
and gaps between
of the things we did not
did not flick away
did not lay side-by-side
did not hold back
did not make lines that
children would see
but left spaces in a vacuum
trickles